


Not like you

by amberandmetal



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feast, Fire, Ritual, Scarification, Tattoos, Thrimilci, celebration, i have no idea how to tag this, maybe part one of a series?, ritual dancing, walpurgis, wardruna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 15:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberandmetal/pseuds/amberandmetal
Summary: Stranded in a new land you try to show the people that despite the differences in dress and manner you are not so different from them





	Not like you

**Author's Note:**

> First thing’s first: The title is not from Pocahontas, I swear! I am swedish so that line is something different here and that it could be “not like you” in english didn’t even occur to me until I had already named it and now I’ve named the puppy and it is done. So I don’t know what this is. I was listening to Wardruna- Rotlaust Tre Fell on my way home and I got this cool ritual scene in my head so I rushed home to jot it down and then it kinda got away from me from there. I wrote the endscene first and I would strongly advice that you listen to the song while you read it. I really love this one and I think it’s safe to say I will sooner or later have to do a continuation because fuck me, I can not just leave them like this. Also: The holidays/feasts mentioned are real but as far as I know they were mainly german and I don’t know if they celebrated the same ones in Norway/Sweden and also the godess mentioned in association with Thrimilci is Ostara but for my own convinience I swapped her with Frigg (Who’s to say that never happened? I mean Thrimilci is a festival of love and fertility.) And when it comes to Reader’s people and who/where they are and what kind of people they are: it is 100% bonafide completely made up. So there. Enjoy!

 

## I

    You tried to move as swiftly and quietly as possible as you darted between houses and huts, cloaked by the darkness. No sound could be heard from most of them, instead the majority of the noise traveling through the night air came from the largest one, the one in the middle, the one belonging to the _Earl_. Who else could it be?

    You almost bumped into a man the size of a giant but he barely noticed, fall down drunk as he was he barely grunted in acknowledgement that something was blocking his way and then continuied on his stumbling path.

    Few torches were still lit and they did nothing for the clarity of your vision. Your heart pumped adrenaline through your veins as you darted past another building only to come upon the town forge. A quick overview, scourging through scraps and pieces left for the night and you found something of a remnant of a weapon but sharp and lethal enough to suffice as a defense. You weren’t happy about it. Really it was barely more than a handled shard.

    You stuck in under the cloth you had wrapped around your waist, removing another from your skirt, carefully wrapping your shaved head. If the brutes who invaded the village you’d been in were any indication, a shawled head were better than a shaved one.

    You fox walked over the ground, the mudd solid and silent from the night frost. You peered inside through a crack in the wall, scanning the scene before you. It wasn’t much if a surprise; most of the men were in no better condition than the troll you had run into, intoxicated with mead, drunk of their asses in celebration of their latest pillage.

    It hadn’t been your village, yet—

    Eye’s searching they finally fell upon the one sitting in the high seat, and the younger one beside her. They were both blessed with beauty that touched on the divine, the woman with long strawberry blonde hair and eyes like a hawk, and the man with deep seated eyes that shone a kind of cold and intense shade of blue you had never seen before. They seemed to be the only ones not halfway unconscious with drink.

    The hearth glowed invitingly, promising warmth and a place to dry and you deemed the situation harmless enough. Once you stepped through the entrance though, attention was on you as the large door made a horribly loud noise.

    “And who is this?”, the younger one drawled, curious eyes scanning your appearance.

    The woman stood up, long elegant dress draping the floor as she made her way past the drunks. She looked you over, taking in your unusual clothing.

    “Who are you and what is your purpose in Kattegat?”

    You swallowed, willing your expression to stay calm as you showed the small weapon at your waist, holding your hand up to show the unintention to use it.

    “I am Y/n and I mean no ill. I was on one of your boats,” she quirked a brow, “I am here to discuss a treaty.”

 

 

## II

    You rearranged the fabric around your body as you sat down on a cushion close to the Queen’s seat, organising the trinkets in your pockets so you could sit comfortably. A slave girl crouched down next to you offering a horn of frothy mead. The warmth of the hearth was as promised comforting and you put the drink between your thighs to hold out your hands and let the cold be soothed away.

    “So Mother tells me you came on one of our boats.”

    You look up, eyes locking with the bizarre ones of the younger man, the prince?, and instantly regretting it. His eyes bore deep into you in a way that felt strangely invasive.

    “Yes, that is true.”

    “How?”

    You looked back up, willing yourself to not be swayed by this viking.

    “It’s amazing how if a barrel is heavy enough a man will immediately think it valuable without ever actually looking inside.”

    The corners of his eyes crinkled then and he let his upper lip curl over his teeth in a laugh that managed to be both approving and frightening.

    The Queen leaned in over her son, a neutral smile painted on her lips.

    “Well, I am Queen Aslaug and this is my son Ivar. And since I trust your purpose here not being evil spirited,” she glanced at the sore excuse for a dagger at your side,” welcome to Kattegat. We will gladly discuss your business here but it will have to wait until after the feasts. I fear you managed to join us in the middle of Walpurgis and the long awaited evening of Thrimilci.”

    You feel your heart leap.

    “Thrimilci?!”

    “You know it?”

    “Of course, my people have been preparing for it for weeks. Frigg is very important to us.”

    That sparked a new manner in them both, whereas Aslaug softened a bit, smiling in earnest, Ivar lit with something like interest.

    “So you acknowledge our Gods?”

    “They are our Gods too, my prince.”

    “How could they be? So far away? All we’ve come across are filthy christians.”

    “That is not knowledge I have. I only know the ways of our forefathers who settled in the forest that I call home. We worship the _Æsir_ but—,” you looked around the room, at the drunken brawlers, singing warriors and the evidence of preparations for a ritual blót, “..I believe, in a much different way.”

    This made Ivar draw back in suspicion, his horn lifted to his lips to drink, not once taking his eyes of you.

    “In what way _different_?”

    You licked your lips, suddenly nervous at the change in mood.

    “We do not sacrifice to appease the Gods.”

    Ivar blinked. So did the Queen.

    “How else do you win their favour? By sacrificing is how we show loyalty and worship, or _have your people forgot_ , _hm_?” The last words were said inches from your face as the prince leaned over from his chair, hot breath and distrusting eyes having you shivering under their weight.

    “We give of ourselves,” you answered truthfully, “we give back some of what they’ve given and we honour them by connecting to the tree of life and offering ourselves.”

    Apparently this was not answer enough and both mother and son adorned similar looks of suspicion.

    “It’s hard to explain,” you offered and then as an afterthought added, “I can show you, if you would allow me.”

    Aslaug gave you a look.

    “That depends on what that would entail.”

    “Tomorrow is Thrimilci and I have prepared for weeks for our people’s kind of offering, I require nothing but a fire, a clearing around it and some of your people to drum and sing.”

    You chanced a glance at Ivar who’s apprehensive gaze hadn't dimmed the slightest.

    “That can be arranged, we often light a large bonfire near the forrest during Thrimilci, it is no bother,” she got up, surrendering her cup of mead to a nearby slave girl, “you can rest with the slavegirls—”

    A smirk played on Ivar’s lips as he interrupted his mother, “Y/n can stay with me, Mother, if she so choose.”

    “Fine.  Good night.” And then she was gone, leaving you alone with the prince. The mead had started to do its job and you felt lulled into a sense of comfort that hadn't been there a minute ago, in spite of the prospects of sleeping in the prince’s chambers. You tried to stifle the emotions the thought brought up, complex and conflicting as they were.

    All things considered the night had gone well— none of your worst case scenarios had taken place, all of your limbs were still intact and as far as you knew the Queen hadn’t made any orders for you to be put in chains. Your hopes rested on the celebration tomorrow evening. If you could show them that you were without a doubt a child of Odin just as them, the treaty bargaining would go over a lot smoother.

    “You are staring.”

    “It’s not often I see a woman dressed like this, or as covered up. Is there a reason behind it?”, he sniffed.

    “Your men didn’t react well to my appearance before, I presumed I would have the same trouble here.”

    That spark of curiosity ignited in his eyes again. They looked hungry— wolflike.

    “Tell me.”

    You took another swallow of the sweet liquid and licked your lips, acutely aware of how the prince traced the movement.

    “Like I said we give of ourselves,” you explained, “all but the children sacrifice our hair once a year.”

    Ivar blinked.

    “Your _hair_?”

    “It is what makes us most beautiful and we willingly sacrifice that to show our undying loyalty to the Gods.”

    He seemed to contemplate this for a moment.

    “And the rest of you?”

    Despite yourself you flushed a bit at the thought of the young prince regarding your body, heat billowing underneath your clothes.

    “Ornaments on our skin,” you smiled, “tattoos, jewellery.. scars.”

    “Scars?” Something macabre sparked behind those blues, momentarily making you recoil.

    “..if you carve a certain shape, you skin will heal like that, creating its own tattoo.”

    “Show me.”

    “Tomorrow— .. tomorrow, my prince. Not here.”

    He huffed and downed the last of his mead, hoisting himself up in a strange manner and crawling down onto the floor—

    You couldn’t believe you hadn’t even noticed the man was a cripple.

    This was indeed a strange people.

 

 

## III

 

    Following Ivar had not been a problem since his crawling made a slow means of travel.

    You followed him into a small room, pelts and fabrics covering the bed and two soft looking chairs. You looked around, searching for the softest place on the floor when he spoke up.

    “The bed is big enough for two,” at the uneasy expression no doubt showing on your face he added with a sneer, “don’t you worry, little _lamb_.. I don’t need to force myself on women, nor would I have any interest in it. Sleep on the floor if you want, maybe frostbite is another way you serve tribute to the Gods, hm?”

    You knew he was being spiteful on purpose, trying to push your buttons. Problem was that it worked. As soon as the soles of your bare feet hit the cold ground you knew there was no way you could sleep like that. Your stomach churned. Maybe it wasn’t too late to sleep with the slavegirls? Although an direct refusal of the prince of Kattegat’s hospitality would probably not serve you or the prospects of a treaty well.

    You closed your eyes, inhaled deeply and shook yourself, willing your limbs to untense.

    On the bed Ivar had already made himself comfortable, slumped down underneath the covers with a challenging grin on his lips, eyes twinkling expectantly.

    “Yes, okay.”

    Your hands reached up to your neck, untying the knot keeping the shawl in place and then allowed it to fall to the floor; Ivar’s eyes widened just the slightest.

    You dragged your hands over your stubbled scalp, shrugging with a smile.

    “Told you.”

    “If this is the way of your people, “ he began as you fully clothed climbed under the covers, “why haven’t I heard of this until now? The warriors returning— .. none of them have spoken about this.”

    You settled down, head propped up on a pillow and your body at a safe distance from the prince.

    “That’s because they didn’t raid my village. But the one nearest to where we live.. and I do not wish for you to come for us next.”

    Ivar laughed, a gleeful yet cold sound that thrilled you yet simultaneously sent chills down your spine.

    “So what were you doing there, hm? Spying? You wanted to get there first?”

    You scoffed.

    “We don’t raid, we don’t pillage, we don’t fight—,” Ivar quirked a brow, “we do know how to defend ourselves, every child is taught from a young age but no, we do not fight. We believe there are other paths to Valhalla,” you curled up on the bed for warmth and peered at the prince, “and as for your question I was on a supply run. We’re a small village if you’d like to call it that, and some of our needs can not be met amongst ourselves.”

    “You are a strange woman.”

    “You are a strange man.”

    He huffed a laugh. This time it sounded warmer, more genuine.

    “I suppose you’re right,  y/n.”

    He fell asleep not soon after, softly snoring as you laid awake trying to come to grips with the events of the day; the day that had started _normal_ like any other day, but had ended in the strangest way possible. You searched your pockets for the pouch of amber stones and garnets and when you found it, gently squeezed it in your palm. You drew a deep breath. You could do this.

    You jerked as the other body in the bed twisted and turned in it’s sleep, arms fanning out as if in search of something. You tensed, watching closely as his form grew closer and closer until he was all but pressed up against you. In a loud rush you let out the breath you’d been holding, partly wishing it would wake the sleeping prince. With no such luck you moved closer to the edge, lying on your side as to not fall out. Ivar only managed to move in closer and with a defeated sigh and a silent thought questioning your sanity you gave in, inching back until your bodies were lined up under the pelts.

    It was nice, though you found it hard to admit. The warmth of him was inviting and something about the way his body instantly calmed down by your presence made your blood heat. This man thrilled and terrified you to no end, and yet sleeping like this he seemed replaced by another, someone softer, someone without the need to strike fear with cruel words and morbid smiles. You tucked away a stray strand of hair from his forehead. What a strange man indeed.

 

 

## III  

    The crowd fell eerily silent as the bonfire lit and the drummers began to sing. The pouch with your stones hung heavy around your neck this time, a solid weight anchoring you to the present. You shed the shawl from your shoulders and stepped out of your boots and into the glowing light, the tiny ankle bells you wore rattling slightly. Some of the vikings around you exchanged whispers and quiet murmurs as your skin was bared for them to see; the intricate tattoos, black runes climbing up over your skin entwining with the white of your scars, all of it cast in a warm glow from the fire.

    The mudd felt cold but familiar and grounding to your bare feet. The first beats of the drums had you stepping out into the cleared circle, feet and body moving of their own accord as you gave yourself over to it; the warmth from the flames, the rhythm, the vibrations in the harmonies—  every sensation.

    Your body moved in pulses, twisting and turning as your chest pumped, opening up to the skies as your head fell back and then closed in again, your arms tight to your body before coiling out again, twisting like snakes in the air. You spun faster, closing in on the fire, letting the flames brush your skin as you focused on staying centered, at one with everything, connected to the bark of yggdrasil and bound to the current of life given by the Gods.

    The beat stopped momentarily and so did you, breathing heavily as the sudden quiet elevated the thrumming in your bones and the buzzing underneath your skin.

    A quiet speedy rhythm started up then, almost as if they were barely touching the skins. Your fingers began curling into your hand and then fanning out again, one by one, undulating with the melody of the rough and deep singing. Quickly you spun, twisting around your own body, your hips gyrating with the movement and making your skirt fan out. You hunched, letting your feet work in quick succession, stomping in beat with the drums, the bells on your ankles adding to the hypnotic rhythm. You moved in and out, closing in on the fire as if to embrace it just to move away again, hands constantly moving in waves, caressing the chilled spring breeze that whirled in to make the fire dance.

    There was a synchronised beat, a hard, loud sound elevated by the many a drums, and your eyes flew open to the skies. You opened your throat and let your spirit sing, the slightly lighter tone of your voice mixing with the throaty alto of the men. Your gaze descended on the fire as you sang, your arms falling with it, hands moving in as your chest jerked, pumped and twisted in time with the beats. Nothing could reach you here, nothing could find you in the tranquill and force of your trance, yet— you felt a push and pull on your senses, something devastatingly blue in your periphery locked on you.

     _Ivar_.

    A sudden chill trickled up your spine.

    You bowed your head and arched your neck, spinning in a snake like motion around yourself. The mudd splashed up on your calves as you ran backwards, feet sliding in the wet earth until you spun again, arms lifting as the voices of the men grew louder in unison; and you ran, straight forward, eyes closed as the heat began to become close to unbearable, and then you lept; legs bent out as the fire licked your skin- seeping into your innermost being, connecting you to all there is, to the Gods— to Frigg.

    You touched down on the other side in a hunch, one leg outstretched to paint a half circle around you as you landed mid spin. In and out your chest moved as you slowly got up, legs crossed, your arms stretching out to your sides, moving  like wings with the pulsing of your chest and shoulders. You stood up, your arms stretched outwards as your eyes faced the sky.

    “ _Gods! I am yours! My spirit yours to do with as you will!_ ”

    The final drum hit and the sound moved through the clearing, the last note clinging to the night air.

    Silence fell. You could hear nothing but the crackling of the roaring fire.

    You bowed your head, closing your eyes once more as you bellowed.

    “To the Gods!”

    The crowd roared in answer.

    “ **TO THE GODS!** ”

 

 

 


End file.
